Damir Barisic was a skinny, dark-eyed man in his twenties when he left Zagreb, Croatia, with a couple suitcases, a little cash and a guitar he played in a rock and roll band during his school days. He settled in northern Ohio, where he and his wife would raise two girls.

He had studied geology in college but first worked in a factory in his new country. He taught himself English — by watching "Batman" episodes on TV, he liked to say. The truth of this cannot be verified. He did like to tell and hear a good joke (naughty ones made him grin the widest).

He turned his gift of salesmanship into a successful, decades-long career, first in life insurance and then in auto sales. Dan, as many knew him, was so dedicated to work he rarely took sick leave.

Damir had tough standards and pushed his daughters to never settle for an A- when an A+ was in reach. He was as skilled at DIY projects as he was in the kitchen, where he baked bread from scratch, roasted duck for Sunday dinner and perfected his chili recipe. He could put things together without reading the instructions. He also was deft at handling a sewing machine, making slip covers for the living room furniture as well as clothes for his daughters' Barbies. A fastidious housekeeper, he tried to instruct his girls on how to polish their shoes to a high sheen and iron their clothes crisply.

He made a game out of teaching his daughters the state capitals, and he enjoyed defeating them at Monopoly and Trivial Pursuit. In winter, he took the girls sledding; summer was time for bike rides in Cleveland's Metro Parks, with a stop for Dilly Bars at Dairy Queen.

A fan of grand gestures, he liked to surprise his daughters with high-tech gadgets and gifts like a wooden dollhouse he built himself, in secret. He also loved guessing — usually correctly — what was hidden by the wrapping when he received a gift.

He took Christmas very seriously, often driving an hour or more to a farm to find and chop down the perfect tree — then spending hours more wrangling the lights.

He occasionally brought out his old guitar to strum "Michael Row Your Boat Ashore" or "Spanish Eyes." He also taught himself to play the organ.

He never lost his accent, but he loved his adopted country. He enjoyed a good steak and baked potato or a hamburger and fries, cheered for Cleveland's sports teams and took pride in speaking and spelling English correctly — although he fell back to colorful Croatian phrases when he felt the need to swear.

After a late-life divorce, he focused on his daughters even more and devoted himself to his grandchildren. He retired just before turning 75. A homebody, he nevertheless found pleasure in traveling with family in his later years, cruising in Alaska and the Bahamas, relaxing in Ocracoke, N.C., touring the battlefield at Gettysburg, making a quick day trip to Philadelphia for cheesesteaks at Jim's and visiting the homes of his favorite singers, Patsy Cline and Elvis Presley. He still delighted in games, including bawdy ones like Cards Against Humanity. He also played a lot of golf with his buddies.

Damir was 81.

He was preceded in death by his parents, Slavica (nee Nesvadba) and Cvjetko Barisic, and his nephew, Boris Zuk.

He leaves behind his sister, Lydia Zuk, of Olmsted Township, and her son, Raymond Zuk, of Fruitland Park, Fla.; daughter Sonja Barisic and her husband, James Lidington, of Norfolk, Va.; daughter Melanie Gould and her husband, Michael Gould, of Cincinnati; and his grandchildren, Natalie, Jake, Sydney and AJ Gould.

In lieu of flowers and donations, take some time to make your own memories with your families.